A Final Act Of Love.

Now, they were all gone. Her friends had fallen in the last battle, fighting bravely against the enemy. Her lover had died defending her, taking a sword thrust meant for her. She had watched him bleed out in her arms, his eyes fading as he told her he loved her.

She felt a tear roll down her cheek. She wiped it away with her hand, stained with blood and dirt. She had not changed her clothes since the battle, nor had she eaten or slept. She had no will to live, no reason to go on.

She looked at the sword that lay beside her, his sword. It was the only thing he had left behind, the only thing that reminded her of him. She picked it up and held it close to her chest. She felt its weight, its edge, its hilt. She felt a surge of emotion, a mix of love and grief and anger.

She decided to end her misery, to join him in death. She raised the sword above her head, ready to plunge it into her heart. She closed her eyes and whispered his name.